Zhu Qing took the raw report data handed to her by Professor Yang Zhengxiu and, after a brief arrangement, escorted him to the formal interrogation room at the police station.
Mo Zhenbang flipped through Cheng Xinglang's psychological evaluation report, his brow tightly furrowed.
The childish signature in the upper right corner of the report stood out conspicuously—it was the handwriting of eight-year-old Cheng Xinglang after completing the psychological assessment.
A few old photos were scattered inside the file folder.
The child lay on a hospital bed, a stark contrast to the carefree boy in the sibling photo from the case file. His face was pale, and the clarity in his eyes had dimmed to a hollow emptiness.
"Back then, the back of Xinglang's skull was nearly shattered by the assailant. After emergency treatment, he remained in a coma for three full days. The doctors were worried he might never wake up," Professor Yang said, his gaze lingering on the hospital photo. "And I believed that even if he did wake up, the child's psyche would be completely shattered."
"But against all expectations, when he regained consciousness, he behaved with eerie calm—almost unnaturally composed."
"He didn’t cry or act out. Later, in his foster home and at school, everyone saw him as a cheerful, optimistic child—excellent grades, well-liked by peers."
Mo Zhenbang frowned. "Isn’t that a good thing?"
Zhu Qing, however, fixed her eyes on the diagnosis section: "Dissociative amnesia?"
"The trauma exceeded what an eight-year-old could endure," Professor Yang nodded slightly. "He witnessed extreme violence, and his brain, in self-preservation, sealed away those memories."
"So Cheng Xinglang didn’t fail to see what happened," Zhu Qing realized. "He selectively forgot."
"When he woke up, he had no recollection of the incident. This wasn’t necessarily because the assailant targeted him first, nor was it the child lying," Professor Yang adjusted his glasses. "This is a classic case of post-traumatic stress disorder. The symptoms could persist into adulthood, even for life."
"When the investigation brushes against the truth, his mind might subconsciously distort facts—another manifestation of pathological self-protection."
After explaining the medical terminology to the police, Professor Yang added, "Such disorders often come with fragmented memories. For eighteen years, searching for his younger brother has been his psychological necessity. If that obsession is shattered, he might collapse."
"An eight-year-old’s psychological report only reflects an immediate reaction under extreme circumstances," Mo Zhenbang asked. "Was there any follow-up evaluation?"
Professor Yang shook his head with a sigh. "Xinglang is strong-willed, always had his own mind. He consistently refused psychological counseling."
"On the surface, he grew up seemingly normal. But psychological scars aren’t visible to the naked eye."
Before leaving, Professor Yang paused at the door. "As Officer Mo said, an eight-year-old’s report proves little. I’ve watched this child grow up. Knowing him as I do, Xinglang is absolutely incapable of committing such brutal acts. But when it comes to his brother… his reactions might become irrational, even extreme."
After seeing Professor Yang off, Mo Zhenbang returned to the conference room with the assessment report.
Officers passed around the documents, murmuring among themselves.
"Where did this report even come from?"
"What happens if he breaks down?"
"Professor Yang said long-suppressed trauma leads to heightened aggression—linking unrelated events into conspiracies, triggering violent behavior."
Uncle Li recalled Cheng Xinglang’s gaze last night in the interrogation room as he stared at the case photos.
Could that have been a flashback of fragmented memories?
"Subconsciously, he already suspects this case is tied to his brother. The teddy bear and chocolates are key evidence."
"But he seems completely normal right now."
Xu Jiale scratched his head. "So what does this report actually mean?"
"It means he might unintentionally tamper with evidence to protect his brother," Mo Zhenbang tapped the desk. "And it implies we need independent verification for his leads about the pharmaceutical factory and Mingde Mental Rehabilitation Center."
"Regardless, Dr. Ye has already provided a detailed autopsy report. Based on the wound angles, the perpetrator’s height is under six feet one inch—a significant discrepancy."
"Plus, forensic analysis of the footprints’ pressure distribution shows the killer’s weight doesn’t match Cheng Xinglang’s at all."
"Insufficient evidence. Process his release, but keep monitoring his communications," Mo Zhenbang closed the file. "Focus on tracing Professor Yang’s financial records and recent movements. Both sides have inconsistencies—we can’t let anyone mislead the investigation."
...
Quitting time hadn’t arrived, but it was clear they’d be working late. The office buzzed as colleagues dialed home one after another on landlines to inform their families.
The case was a tangled web. Untangling it would take hours. Mo Zhenbang massaged his temples and signaled Hao Zai, who scurried out and returned with bags of drinks from the corner diner.
"Coffee, milk tea, iced lemon tea—help yourselves," Hao Zai mumbled around an egg tart.
"Hey! Why only one egg tart?" Xu Jiale squinted.
"Fresh out of the oven. The line was insane," Hao Zai took a bite. "This was the last one..."
Zhu Qing pressed her wrist against the condensation on her cup, a makeshift ice pack.
Last night, swerving to avoid a cyclist, she’d twisted her wrist. It hadn’t hurt then, but now the ache pulsed faintly.
She leafed through Cheng Xinglang’s meticulously compiled records with her left hand.
Every page was orderly, backed by third-party proof—receipts, schedules, even the ink faded with age. It was all verifiable.
"Just an eight-year-old’s psych eval," Zeng Yongshan remarked nearby. "What’s the big deal?"
Then, light footsteps pattered down the hall, accompanied by a child’s sweet voice.
"Ah John! I’m here to pick you up!"
Zhu Qing checked the wall clock. Right on time—the little menace’s school dismissal.
That morning, the kid had marched into school declaring his intentions before bolting. And now, true to his word, he’d arrived.
Zhu Qing stepped into the hallway.
Fangfang, dwarfed by his backpack, grinned up at her, head tilted. Beside him, Aunt Ping wore an expression caught between exasperation and adoration.
Before Zhu Qing could speak, Fangfang gave a little shrug.
"I called Aunt Ping from the principal’s office at lunch."
The smug look on his face was pure bravado.
So what if he didn’t have a mobile? He had a brain. He remembered Aunt Ping’s number. He could reach her anytime!
"I got the little master’s call and waited at the Yau Ma Tei stop," Aunt Ping explained, smiling.
Uncle Li clicked his tongue and muttered, "Kids these days are so pampered—they need escorts just to walk a few steps. Back in my day, I used to—"
"Uncle Li, stop right there," Xu Jiale interrupted. "Nostalgia is the first sign of aging."
Uncle Li choked on his words and shot him an annoyed glare.
"You go ahead with your work," Sheng Fang declared matter-of-factly. "I'm here to see Ah John."
Tilting his chubby face up, he stretched out his little hands toward his niece with an expression that practically screamed, "What are you gonna do about it?"
His childish, adorable voice drifted down the hallway and into the Senior Inspector's office.
Weng Zhaolin savored the luxury of having someone come just for him before leisurely strolling out of his office.
Just then, Sheng Fang turned toward the voices—and his eyes suddenly lit up.
Cheng Xinglang had just finished some paperwork, and a CID officer was briefing him on the follow-up investigation.
"Was last night tough to get through?" the officer asked with a smile.
Due to insufficient evidence, his actual detainment had fallen far short of the legal limit.
"No," Cheng Xinglang replied softly. "My parents waited eighteen years. I only waited one night."
Nearby, Zhu Qing glanced up at his words.
Hadn’t he also waited eighteen years?
"Dr. Cheng!" Sheng Fang dashed over on his short legs.
Cheng Xinglang bent down and scooped up the little ball of energy mid-run.
"Let’s see if you’ve grown any taller," he said, studying the boy before concluding internally:
Still just as short.
Sheng Fang waved at Weng Zhaolin, making his preference clear.
What could he do? Dr. Cheng was the one who could lift him up high.
"Ah John, I spend enough time with you normally," Fangfang declared fairly. "Right now, I’m keeping Dr. Cheng company."
"Who asked you to?" Weng Zhaolin retorted, side-eyeing the boy. "I don’t have time to entertain you anyway."
The group burst into laughter.
Amid the rare lighthearted moment, Little Sun hurried in and whispered something into Mo Zhenbang’s ear.
Mo Zhenbang’s expression darkened instantly. "Back to work," he ordered curtly.
......
"Perfect timing for lunch," Cheng Xinglang said, setting Sheng Fang down gently and ruffling his hair. "Haven’t tasted Uncle Ming’s cooking in ages."
Sheng Fang immediately latched onto him like a little shadow. "I’m coming too!"
Though, as the elder (despite his age), he technically didn’t need to report his whereabouts to his juniors, he still sneaked a guilty glance back at Zhu Qing.
"Really going now—" he drawled, his round face brimming with anticipation.
Zhu Qing waved him off. "Go on, go on."
"Come back after eating," she added, turning to Aunt Ping. "Aunt Ping, you can head home first. I’ll bring Fangfang back later."
The little boy bounced with excitement before skipping back to Cheng Xinglang to catch up.
The two walked toward the police station canteen, one in front of the other.
Despite the long separation, Sheng Fang hadn’t forgotten his old friend, chattering nonstop with excitement plastered across his chubby cheeks.
They had barely settled at their table when Ah Ben stormed in.
"You came back and didn’t even look for me?!"
Cheng Xinglang handed him a menu with a smile. "What do you want? My treat."
Ah Ben scoffed. "Don’t think you can buy me off that easily. I expect abalone and shark fin."
He’d already heard about Cheng Xinglang’s situation but didn’t bring it up.
Those troubles were his to handle. Why dwell on the unpleasant during a reunion?
"Look at you," Ah Ben said, nodding toward Fangfang as he pulled out a chair. "Back for five minutes and already sprouting new flowers?"
Flowers? What flowers? This guy with too many teeth when he grinned always talked about things kids didn’t care about.
Sheng Fang swung his legs, munching on his pork chop rice, and resumed his lively conversation.
"How’s the bike-riding going?"
Cheng Xinglang remembered how, before he left, this little round ball would patrol the station on his training wheels.
"Still can’t ride a two-wheeler," Fangfang admitted, his face falling. Then, hopefully, "Can you?"
"Are you kidding?" Cheng Xinglang raised an eyebrow. "I could ride at two years old."
Sheng Fang pondered the claim skeptically.
Was he the Bike King or the Blowhard King?
"Want me to teach you?"
The boy’s mouth was stuffed with pork chop. "Mhm! Then next time—"
"Ah Ben," Cheng Xinglang turned to his friend. "Are Sister Elly’s twins’ bikes still here at the station?"
During holidays, colleagues’ kids often visited, leaving their bikes behind—a long-standing tradition.
Ah Ben caught on. "I’ll go get them."
"Eat up," Cheng Xinglang tapped Sheng Fang’s plate. "We’re learning after this."
The boy’s eyes sparkled like stars.
No wonder he adored playing with Dr. Cheng.
Dr. Cheng was just the best!
......
The police investigation pressed on.
Just as Little Sun began verifying Professor Yang’s financial records and recent contacts per Mo Zhenbang’s orders, an unexpected incident disrupted their progress.
Professor Yang Zhengxiu was involved in a severe car accident on his way home from the station.
The hit-and-run vehicle had no license plates. He was rushed to the hospital in critical condition.
"His overseas family’s been notified," Little Sun reported. "The impact was bad. It’s unlikely he’ll..."
On the whiteboard in the meeting room, Professor Yang’s name joined the list of key figures.
"Two weeks after the Cheng family case eighteen years ago, Professor Yang’s wife and son suddenly emigrated," Little Sun said, handing over bank records. "Around the same time, he received a massive transfer. Look at the sender’s name."
Uncle Li took the documents. "Wan Haozhong? Why does that sound familiar?"
"The executive from Mingde Hospital—the one Cheng Xinglang investigated," Zhu Qing said. "The pharmaceutical company director who later died in a suspicious fall."
Liang Qikai scrutinized the psychological evaluation report Professor Yang had submitted.
"Mo Zhenbang, is there an issue with this report? The dissociative amnesia diagnosis bears Dr. Cheng’s signature, but the section on violent tendencies—the formatting seems slightly off. Like it was added later."
"Send it to forensics immediately for ink and paper analysis," Mo Zhenbang ordered.
Hao Zai, seated near the door, grabbed the report and hurried out. "Hope they haven’t clocked off yet."
"Suddenly sending his family away eighteen years ago, then submitting this report now..." Zhu Qing mused. "Protecting them—and Cheng Xinglang too?"
"But why would Professor Yang do this? This report didn’t affect Dr. Cheng’s release," Zeng Yongshan frowned. "It couldn’t possibly—"
Abruptly, her expression froze.
Zhu Qing paused: "I understand. If it's confirmed that Dr. Cheng tampered with evidence due to psychological issues, the investigation will shift toward his brother instead of continuing to pursue the pharmaceutical company's trail."
Liang Qikai remarked, "Framing the murder as the work of Dr. Cheng's brother is meant to cover up the real secret and divert attention?"
"Both Professor Yang and Lai Danhe are connected to the former Mingde Mental Health Center," Uncle Li said, his gaze fixed on the whiteboard. "What's happening now is likely a series of silencing operations."
"Yang Zhengxiu might have been forced to cooperate with something back then in exchange for his family's safety. Now, submitting a fake report..." Zhu Qing mused. "Could it be that Professor Yang was worried Cheng Xinglang's investigation would lead to trouble, so he falsified the report to stop him from digging deeper, trying to calm the situation? The people hiding in the shadows didn’t know Professor Yang’s real purpose for visiting the police station, which is why they chose to silence him."
After all, if Professor Yang had fully complied with their instructions, he shouldn’t have been targeted—especially right after leaving the police station. That would only raise suspicions about the report.
It was precisely because he met with misfortune that the police were prompted to thoroughly reinvestigate the psychological report from years ago.
"The other side had no idea why Professor Yang suddenly visited the police station or what materials he submitted," Uncle Li nodded. "Maybe out of fear, they decided to make him permanently silent."
"Or," he paused, "was it an act of desperation after failing to threaten him?"
Mo Zhenbang’s expression darkened as he concluded, "Yang Zhengxiu must hold critical information. He was involved eighteen years ago, and now he was likely threatened again to obstruct the investigation. The killer couldn’t be sure he’d keep cooperating, so they decided to eliminate him outright."
"Keep investigating all of Professor Yang’s recent contacts," Mo Zhenbang glanced at the bank transfer records. "Especially those linked to Mingde. Also, immediately assign more officers to guard the hospital. Yang Zhengxiu is now our key witness—we must ensure his safety."
"This crucial lead must not be cut off."
……
Winter had passed, and the nights arrived a little later.
Under the dim glow of the setting sun, little Sheng Fang resumed his bicycle lessons.
His niece had been his coach before, but after three falls, Sheng Fang hadn’t found any joy in riding.
Today was different.
Sitting on the tiny bicycle, his feet barely touching the ground, he wobbled as he struggled to keep his balance.
Cheng Xinglang was much more agile than Uncle Nian, easily bending down to steady the bike, his hands always ready to catch the swaying frame.
They started with coasting—Sheng Fang pushed off with his short legs, gradually finding his balance.
Finally, he mustered the courage to place his feet on the pedals.
"Should I let go?" Cheng Xinglang asked.
The young master of the Sheng family declared confidently, "Go ahead!"
The moment Cheng Xinglang released his grip, the little bike immediately veered unsteadily.
Sheng Fang’s small hands clutched the handlebars, but in his panic, his feet seemed to forget where the pedals were, frantically ringing the bell instead.
"Help—I’m gonna fall!"
Cheng Xinglang laughed, steadying the bike again, patiently guiding him through repeated attempts.
The sunset stretched their shadows long—one tall, one small, plus a tiny bicycle, repeating the same motions in the fading light.
"Kid, don’t cry if you fall."
"Of course I won’t!"
From start to finish, Cheng Xinglang never secretly let go.
He simply released his hands outright: "You can do it."
The bike wobbled forward, and Sheng Fang finally managed two full pedal rotations.
The bike was so small that even if he lost balance, his short legs could easily touch the ground.
His round little figure trudged forward with difficulty, occasionally turning back with a grin.
And often, that grin was followed by a yelp—but before he could hit the ground, Dr. Cheng was already there to catch him. Once steadied, they’d keep going without pause.
Gradually, Cheng Xinglang slowed his pace, letting Sheng Fang find his own way.
The scene felt familiar, reminding him of riding bikes with his younger brother all those years ago. News reports always described his brother as withdrawn, but he knew—his brother was just quiet.
Do people really change because of their experiences?
Cheng Xinglang refused to believe his brother could be a killer.
"I did it!" Sheng Fang suddenly cheered. "I really did it!"
The next second, the bike tilted sharply.
Zhu Qing had come specifically to find Cheng Xinglang. Seeing Fangfang about to fall, she instinctively rushed forward to catch him.
But Cheng Xinglang was already there, steadying the bike.
They both turned to her, flashing identical triumphant grins.
"How was that?" Fangfang piped up in his tiny voice. "I rode a whole circle just now!"
Cheng Xinglang mimicked his bragging tone: "How was that? I taught him."
Zhu Qing’s lips curled as she playfully pinched Sheng Fang’s little nose.
"Looks like the day Fangfang takes me for a bike ride isn’t far off."
……
If even Professor Yang was secretly hindering the case’s progress, then Cheng Xinglang’s current situation must be extremely dangerous.
Zhu Qing had hurried downstairs to find him for this very reason.
As she walked, she called Aunt Ping, instructing her to pick up Sheng Fang.
Half an hour later, Uncle Nian parked the car outside the police station.
Sheng Peirong and Aunt Ping stepped out together.
This little one had the highest status—requiring so many people just to fetch him.
Sheng Fang’s round face scrunched in confusion.
They’d been having so much fun—he’d only just learned to ride!
The little boy clung to the car door, refusing to get in. "I’m not done biking with Dr. Cheng yet!"
Sheng Peirong immediately craned her neck, scanning the crowd. "Which one is Dr. Cheng?"
She stood on tiptoe, searching the sea of busy officers, but saw no sign of him.
"Sheng Fang, time to go home," Zhu Qing said firmly.
The next moment, the reluctant siblings were both bundled into the car.
After sending Sheng Fang off, Zhu Qing quickly returned upstairs.
"There’s definitely something wrong—suspicious activity outside Professor Yang’s hospital room," Xu Jiale reported. "The nurse on duty said a man was checking the shift log, but she didn’t recognize him and shooed him away."
The police moved swiftly.
The safe house directive was issued immediately. By the time Cheng Xinglang was relocated, he learned of Professor Yang’s fate.
The enemy lurked in the shadows, while they remained exposed.
Professor Yang, whom he’d seen just that afternoon, now lay in the emergency room. The police couldn’t afford another "accident."
Cheng Xinglang paced the safe house.
The cramped space was secured down to the last detail, surveillance cameras blinking red.
"Now I’m really a protected species."
In the monitoring room, Zhu Qing and Xu Jiale kept their eyes glued to the screens.
They were on night duty; their colleagues would relieve them in the morning.
"Still cracking jokes?" Xu Jiale teased.
"Can't just cry, can I?" On the screen, Cheng Xinglang leaned closer. "You guys really want to watch me sleep?"
His sharply defined face filled the frame, even the curve of his eyelashes clearly visible.
Zhu Qing leaned back slightly. "You've gotten tanned."
Cheng Xinglang chuckled and adjusted the camera angle. The monitor now showed only his profile, bathed in the warm glow of a desk lamp as he casually picked up a pen and scribbled something on paper.
"When I was little, Professor Yang used to visit my house often," Cheng Xinglang suddenly spoke up. "Lai Danhe, Professor Yang… everyone connected to the case. Am I next?"
He stopped writing and looked up at the surveillance camera.
"You won't be," Zhu Qing said.
Xu Jiale, munching on a duck leg rice, chimed in, "Yeah, you think we’re just decoration?"
"I know. Nothing will happen." Cheng Xinglang smiled faintly. "There's still so much I haven’t done. And there’s something I need to say… to someone."
Zhu Qing’s gaze lingered on the surveillance screen.
Xu Jiale chewed noisily. "Want some duck leg?"
...
Zhu Qing and Xu Jiale kept watch all night, the three of them chatting intermittently over the monitor, adding a bit of novelty to the otherwise dull shift.
By dawn, their replacements arrived.
Zhu Qing headed straight to the Yau Ma Tei apartment to catch up on sleep—a temporary rest area Sheng Peirong had arranged for her through Aunt Ping. Who knew it would actually come in handy?
Logically, she should have slept till afternoon, but before noon, she was already back at the office.
Mo Zhenbang had already requested reinforcements from higher-ups.
As the investigation deepened, the pharmaceutical factory lead was pulling in more and more people, and their current manpower was stretched thin.
During the afternoon case analysis meeting, Uncle Li walked in with a stack of documents.
"These are work records Xinglang obtained from a retired nurse at Ming Tak. The old lady kept them purely out of professional habit—couldn’t bear to throw them away after a lifetime in nursing." Uncle Li spread the files on the table. "Focus on Lai Danhe’s records. There’s a faint signature in the bottom right corner."
"The handwriting’s too light. Can’t make out the full name, just that the surname is ‘Song.’"
Mo Zhenbang took the file. "Split into two teams—one checks the abandoned drug warehouse in Kowloon Tong, the other focuses on former employees of the pharmaceutical factory. Given the state of the factory back then, anyone who suddenly came into money is suspicious."
The printer spat out sheets, still warm, as red circles were already being drawn on the list of names.
"That little girl’s been missing for over forty-eight hours," Zhu Qing said. "Every minute wasted puts her in more danger."
"What about the people Professor Yang contacted before his death? And the visitor logs from his office—go straight to the school for those."
"And the copycat suspect? Narrow it down by height and weight, prioritize former employees from both Ming Tak and the pharmaceutical factory."
Just as tasks were being assigned, Zhu Qing’s mobile rang.
She stepped out of the meeting and returned with new information.
"Rong Zimei said that after we left yesterday, her mother Feng Ningyun kept rambling about seeing the madman talking to a man with a scar on his right hand at Ming Tak."
"Though she emphasized that Feng Ningyun’s mental state is unstable, so take it with a grain of salt."
"A scar?" Mo Zhenbang said. "Cross-reference former Ming Tak employees and pharmaceutical factory staff with scars on their right hands. Narrow it down for now."
With assignments handed out, Mo Zhenbang turned to Zhu Qing. "You’re coming with me to Ming Tak. Keep it low-key—don’t spook anyone."
"Should we pretend to be mental patients?" Xu Jiale butted in.
Mo Zhenband almost laughed. "Think you can pull that off?"
"Got it," Zhu Qing said, amused. "We’ll say we’re here to follow up on Feng Ningyun’s records."
Zeng Yongshan immediately played along. "Sorry, Madam, but Ms. Feng has already been transferred."
Zhu Qing feigned surprise. "What?"
Uncle Li couldn’t hold back a chuckle. "The entire B team could star in a drama right now."
Mo Zhenbang and Zhu Qing hurried out.
As the police car started, Mo Zhenbang frowned. "I think I just saw your uncle."
"Again?"
Yesterday, Zhu Qing had explicitly told Aunt Ping not to let Fangfang visit uninvited.
But, as it turned out, the young master of the Sheng family wasn’t one to follow orders.
The car rumbled away.
Sheng Fang pushed his "Cold Palace bike"—specially brought from home—and swaggered toward the police station.
"Young master, Zhu Qing just left!" Aunt Ping called after him.
"I’m not here for her."
Sheng Fang marched forward with his tiny two-wheeler, lifting it with Aunt Ping when they reached the stairs.
Last night’s bike adventure wasn’t enough—he was here for round two.
Even after months away, Sheng Fang knew his way around the forensics office like the back of his hand.
But the moment he reached Cheng Xinglang’s office, Ah Ben, who was just leaving, rained on his parade.
"Your intel’s outdated," Ah Ben said, bending down. "Cheng Xinglang hasn’t been reinstated yet, and he’s been moved to a safe house."
Sheng Fang was crushed.
What kind of proper adult keeps getting locked up?!
Meanwhile, trouble kept piling up.
Zhu Qing showed up to drag him back.
Once again, the little troublemaker was stuffed into the car.
"We’ll drop you off on the way," Zhu Qing said. "Stay put at home for now. No more running around."
Mo Zhenbang, in the driver’s seat, stifled a laugh.
Sheng Fang huffed and sank into the backseat, crossing his short arms indignantly.
Great. Even the mighty Fang Sir is under lockdown now!
